Gravity is Not Responsible

Chapter 01

During the hottest days of summer, Anouk liked to sunbathe by the pool on the roof of her apartment building. Anouk especially liked to sunbathe topless. She believed that the body was a beautiful thing and should not be covered up.

However, this proved to be a predicament for the older couple that lived in the building next to Anouk's building. Their building was significantly taller than Anouk's and this particular couple's window looked out right onto the pool. They'd be drinking iced lemonade and enjoying their elderly companionship when they'd look out the window and see Anouk reading a book, wearing only a thong bikini bottom.

This sight particularly disturbed this particular couple, as they had known Anouk for quite some time and were delighted when she'd moved in the building next to theirs. But they'd never thought they'd see the girl's unmentionables.

The man, a Monsieur Leblanc, immediately telephoned Anouk's father Frédéric to inform him of his daughter's wanton habits. However, Frédéric, an aging bohemian, just laughed. He informed Monsieur Leblanc that whatever Anouk's perception of beauty might be, it was her decision to make. Monsieur Leblanc countered that there were some other neighbors who could see Frédéric's daughter's chest plain as day at the same time he was, which did indeed raise Frédéric's eyebrows.

A bit alarmed, Frédéric immediately telephoned Anouk herself, accusing her of becoming a wanton sex goddess.

"A wanton sex goddess? Daddy, have you gone quite mad?" Anouk laughed, holding the phone to her mouth with her shoulder as she stirred sizzling vegetables in a big wok. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You! Showing off your…womanly parts for everyone to see."

"Daddy, whatever happened to my perception of beauty? In my eyes, breasts are beautiful. I happen to have a nice set. Why should I not show them off for everyone to see?"

Frédéric flushed upon hearing this. Even being the free-spirited bohemian that he was, he still didn't have to envision his own daughter naked. "Forgive me Anouk. You are very right. It's your own perception that truly matters."

Anouk smiled smugly as she hung up the phone. She always got her way with her father.

Now, Anouk was not a wanton sex goddess by any means. She'd been with a grand total of three men, all when she was a teenager. The first was an old boyfriend. They'd decided that they were going to go through with it after their senior dinner dance. It was a messy affair and they'd parted ways soon after. The second was an older man she'd met in her first year at university. He'd enjoyed taking her from behind and bestowed the occasional hard spank on her bottom. Anouk did not like to be spanked and thus he was gone. The third was a very strange boy with a foot fetish. He did not last very long either.

Then Anouk turned twenty and she took a vow of celibacy until she met the right man. Not until she married, but until she met the right man.

Her workplace was a bar a few blocks away called Marilyn's. She was a barmaid. No, not a waitress. A barmaid. It required a uniform consisting of a corset and a patterned gauzy skirt that fell so that it tickled the tops of her ankles when she walked briskly. Anouk liked her uniform quite a bit. She enjoyed the cleavage it created and the way her skirt tickled her sensitive ankles.

Her day consisted of such: get up, eat breakfast, sunbathe, eat lunch, sunbathe some more, eat dinner, go to work, come home, eat midnight snack, go to sleep. It was simple, day after day, always the same. But it was gratifying for her. Work, after all, was most interesting and not boring in the least. And she read through many books while sunbathing. And she had a nice tan to boot.

Anouk was very careful about her skin. She did not want to get cancer so she made sure she covered herself in sunblock. First she applied the sunblock to her legs and then her stomach and her shoulders. She managed to reach around herself and get her back also. Then, lastly, she undid her top and massaged the oily liquid into her breasts. The cool liquid always felt so good, especially in this heat.

However, this ritual was not as gratifying to a certain someone else as it was to her.

Yves could not find his box of condoms. He stood naked in his bedroom, rummaging through his drawers, getting worried that perhaps he'd run out and forgotten to buy more. Sabine, his friend with benefits, had spread herself out on his bed with a bored expression on her face.

"Yves, I thought you said you had some," Sabine said impatiently.

"I thought I did…" Yves answered, his low husky voice stammering. He was about to get laid and all he needed to do was supply the God damned condoms and he'd forgotten. He cursed inwardly and turned to Sabine, a guilty look on his face. "I guess I don't have any. If you want, I can run down to the store-"

"No need," Sabine cut him off. "I just needed a quick fuck and you've used up all the time I had. I need to get to work."

As she left and slammed the door behind her, Yves sighed and leaned on his windowsill, looking out onto the rooftop of the building next to his. A young woman in a bright blue thong bikini was slowly walking to a pool chair by the pool. She sat down on the chair and pilled a bottle out of her bag. Yves assumed it to be sunblock. She began rubbing it on herself, first her legs, then her stomach and shoulders and her back. Then, and even after the fact Yves couldn't believe it, she untied her bikini top and took it off to oil her breast.

Yves' jaw dropped. She was an exquisite creature, about average height with gloriously tanned skin. Her thick hair was dark brown, almost black and was long and straight, hanging down to the middle of her back. Yves was not a shallow person, by all means. In fact, Sabine was quite ugly. She more resembled a pug dog than a girl. But she had a good heart and was an animal in bed. Yet this girl… Yves' breath was just taken away. From what he could see of her face, she was somewhat pretty. She was probably the type who was stunning only if the whole picture was looked at. He was sure he was looking at the whole picture.

He ached to photograph her. Yves had a mastery of words and images. He was a poet by trade, a photographer by hobby. However, in one of the great mysteries surrounding Yves, he was a much better photographer than poet. In fact, he was a terrible poet. He had no life experience. His poems were mainly whiny musings, not about any love of the past, or about any loss he's suffered.

Yves was actually a failure at many things. He was not smart. He knew language and images. He'd nearly failed algebra but aced geometry. He did fail history but received awards for his language successes. And yet was still a terrible poet.

He scowled, snapping himself back to the present and, realizing he was still naked, pulling his clothes on. His clothes, very off for the time of year, consisted of a light and airy black turtleneck and black jeans. Typical poet wear to go with his dark hair and romantic bronzed skin. Yves had thought up the phrase 'romantic bronzed skin'. A true example of his lyrical way of describing life.

Yes, it was quite certain he was a terrible poet.

Now he just had to sit out the night brooding in front of his typewriter. For tomorrow, he would be job hunting. Being a terrible poet does not pay well, after all, and his shambly apartment sure showed it. Yves had also coined the term, 'shambly'. He considered himself quite the genius afterwards.